Happily Ever After? (16 page)

I know there are other ways of releasing all this steam, but the last time I used my electric boyfriend I think it gave me
carpal tunnel syndrome and I just don’t have the physical energy to go unplugged. I need something fast, clean, mindless.

’Til next time,

V

I’ve been a very naughty girl.

I’d finally gotten an estimate from a tree-relocation company. These people come and dig up your old tree and replant it somewhere
else. It would cost me twelve thousand dollars to move the sycamores three feet onto my property. At this point, I didn’t
care how much it would cost. I wanted to save those trees, and I wanted Bill Stropp to shut the hell up already. I sent him
an e-mail:

The trees will be moved, at a cost of $12,000, incidentally. I hope this resolves the issue, once and for all. Valerie Ryan

I got this message back:

I want your assurance that you will also take care of the holes those trees leave behind. I want them filled and reseeded,
on the same day of removal. I don’t want you leaving behind any gaping holes on my property. Understood?

Bill Stropp

Aarrrggghhh! He was impossible! I e-mailed him:

The area will be filled and seeded at my expense. I would never leave any holes behind. Understood? [I couldn’t resist adding
that].

Valerie Ryan

Within moments, I received this e-mail from him:

Just make sure you fill the holes with topsoil, and seed with turfgrass. None of this rye crap.

Bill Stropp

That did it! I’d had enough of Bill Stropp. I hopped in my Jeep and drove around the block to Cheshire Lane. I strode up the
path to his door. I had no idea what I would say, I only wanted to scream at him, to
beat my fists against his chest, to tell him he had a lot of nerve, ordering me around like a servant. I rapped on the door
and waited. He swung open the door and smiled as if he’d been expecting me.

“What is your goddamn problem?” I yelled.

“I don’t have a problem,” he said calmly, still smiling.

“Oh no?” I yelled. He must have been working out; there was a sheen of sweat sparkled across his shoulders and arms. He was
wearing a black ribbed tank top and gray sweatpants, socks and Nike slides. He stepped toward me so we were inches apart,
and I noticed he smelled clean and sweet.

“Uh-uh,” he said, slowly shaking his head. His eyes slowly appraised me. “It’s hot out. You maybe want to discuss this inside?”

So I stepped inside. And when he closed the door behind me, I don’t know what got into me, but I grabbed Bill Stropp’s face
and kissed him full on the mouth, and he kissed me back, and before I knew it, we were against the wall, and my hand was down
his sweatpants and he felt hot and hard and wonderful. We had sex against that wall, and again on the floor, and once more
somewhere else, I can’t remember where, and I haven’t stopped thinking about him since I left his house six and a half hours
ago and I can’t believe how good I feel.

’Til next time,

V

It was about noon when the doorbell rang. I assumed it was Lynette; she said she wanted to drop off a loaf of Friendship bread
and starter. (I have a theory about Friendship bread, by the way. Since it’s more like cake than bread, you wind up eating
the whole loaf in one sitting. What kind of friend would give you a loaf of bread, knowing full well that you’ll eat it all
yourself in one sitting? The kind of friend who doesn’t want to see you release the thin person within, I say.)

I yanked the door open, ready to accept my Friendship Loaf. It wasn’t Lynette, it was Diana, wearing a red leather cowboy
hat, red leather miniskirt, and a fringed red leather halter top. The only misstep in her ensemble was a canvas tote bag,
the kind you get for making a fifty-dollar donation to public radio. “Well, howdy!”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing up here like this,” I blurted out.

Diana’s eyes widened. “What? What did I do?”

“You know exactly what you did, Diana. Don’t you dare try to bullshit me.”

“Hey,” she said, raising her hands as if in surrender. “You’ve got the wrong guy. Whatever I did to you in the past, I’ve
made my amends. I’m a good girl now. You know that.”

“Really? Then how did Roger get his hands on pictures
of us in the Econolodge? Pictures he intends to use to win full custody of my son!”

Diana reeled back. “Valerie. Honest to God, I have no idea. Are you sure he has pictures? How do you know? Oh my God. I can’t
believe this. I’m the one who’s
naked
in those pictures.”

“No kidding, Diana. And I was sitting next to you. On the bed. But what do you have at stake, really? You don’t have kids.
You don’t have a husband. You’ve already wrecked your career.” Diana looked injured, and I knew then that she had nothing
to do with the pictures. “Roger said they came in over the transom. Like a gift from God, he said.”

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” she said, marching into the house. “Let me call Omar. I’ll find out who’s behind
this.”

“Omar doesn’t know,” I told her. “And Roger’s not telling.”

“But I bet Roger’s lawyer knows,” Diana said excitedly, tossing her hat and coat onto the sofa and laying her tote bag gingerly
on the dining room table. “And I bet I can get him to tell me.”

“You know Richard Sloan?”

“I sure do.” Diana had pulled the phone book out of the kitchen drawer and was running her finger down a column of numbers.
“I know Sloan very well. And, baby, he owes me. Big time. The least he can do is tell me where he got the pictures.” She punched
in the number and looked at me, grinning.

“That can’t be ethical, can it?” I wondered what was in the bag. It didn’t smell like food. Not that I had an appetite.

“Ethical, shmethical.” Diana snorted. “He’ll tell me.” She stopped.

“Mr. Sloan, please.” Diana tapped her fingers restlessly on the kitchen counter. I tried to sneak a peek at her bag but she
pulled it away before I could reach it.

“Richie? How are you, sweetheart?” she began, grinning at me. “Fine, wonderful. Loving life, living right, one day at a time.”
She twisted her hair girlishly. “Listen, Richie, I’ve got a favor to ask. You know those pictures? Yes, those are the ones.
Uh-uh. Thanks. Yeah, I’ve been working out. Look, darling, I’m not asking you to burn those pictures—though I’d be forever
in your debt if you would. I’d just like to know where you got them…. Don’t make me beg, baby…. Uh-uh…. I see…. You’re a gem.
Thanks, Richie. Love to Jazzie.” She hung up the phone and stared at me. “Oh. Val. You’re going to love this.”

“What, Diana? Just tell me. Where did Roger get those pictures?” My heart stopped. “Who sent them?”

“Your old spiritual advisor,” Diana said. “Reverend Lee.”

“Very funny,” I said, certain she was joking. “No, really. Who sent Roger the pictures?”

Diana plucked a red grape off the bunch on the counter and popped it in her mouth. “I told you. His Holiness. The good pastor.
Reverend Lee.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why would I make that up?” She popped another grape into her mouth. “So tell me. What’s a nice little pastor doing in an
Econolodge, snapping pictures of you and me in bed?”

“We weren’t in bed, Diana.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why would he follow you to the motel? Did he have the hots for you? Come
on, Val, put on your little thinking cap and figure it out.”

So I thought about it. And I had to conclude that no, absolutely not, Reverend Lee had never been attracted to me. See, I
pride myself on my finely tuned pheromone detector. I can usually tell when I’ve perked a chemical reaction, and Reverend
Lee never tripped my radar, much as I might have wanted him to. I was grateful for any man’s attention, and when Reverend
Lee took my hand in his to pray, the warmth was as seductive as a stare. But back then I was happy to have my dentist’s fat
fingers in my mouth. As I said, I was grateful for any man’s attention.

“Not possible,” I said finally.

“Richie Sloan wouldn’t lie to me.” She handed me the phone. “Call the good Rev and find out what’s going on.”

I stared at the phone. I was paralyzed.

“Fine,” Diana said impatiently. “Then I’ll call.” She grabbed the phone book. “Which church?”

“First United Methodist. On East Lattimer.”

I watched Diana punch in the numbers. “It’s ringing,” she said. Then she handed me the phone. “You talk to him.”

I picked it up just as Lila the secretary answered. “First United,” she sang. “How can I help you?”

“Uh, er, is Reverend Lee there?” I stammered.

“May I tell him who’s calling?” the secretary chirped.

“It’s Valerie. Valerie Ryan.”

“Sure, Miss Ryan. Hold on just a moment.”

I watched Diana pop another grape into her wide mouth and I waited. How would I start? What would I say? What if Sloan was
lying? I had to proceed with caution, couldn’t just accuse him outright, couldn’t assume anything.

“Valerie!” Reverend Lee’s voice was bright, unsuspecting. “Long time, no see! How are you?”

How was I? Happy to be divorced from Roger, petrified that I might lose my son, exhilarated by a new affair, miserable that
Roger and his girlfriend remain fixtures in my life, sickened by the possibility that this new judge might reverse our divorce
settlement. “I’m fine,” I told him.

“Wonderful!” he responded. “That’s wonderful.”

“No. That’s a lie. I’m not fine. I’m quite upset, to be honest. Upset and confused.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he said, in that soothing pastorial voice of his.

“Yes.”

“Shall we set up an appointment, then?” The man didn’t have a clue.

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk now.” I felt my adrenaline surge.

“I’ve got a few minutes. Shoot.”

I inhaled deeply. Diana squeezed my arm and mouthed, “You can do this.”

“Reverend Lee, you know that Roger and I are divorced, and I have primary custodial rights. Well, Roger is now contesting
those rights. He wants full custody. And he’s doing everything in his power to get it. He’s claiming I’m gay. And he apparently
has pictures of me in a hotel room, with someone who happens to be lesbian, and I’m afraid those pictures have put me in a
compromising position, if you know what I mean.” I waited for a reaction.

“Oh, Valerie, I’m sorry.” That was empathy, not an apology. He really had no idea what I was about to say.

“I tried to find out where the pictures came from.”

“Yes … ?”

“And apparently they came from you?”

Silence. Then, finally, “Say that again?”

“I said, Reverend Lee, the pictures came from you.
You
sent those pictures to my ex-husband.”

“Valerie, I realize that you’ve been under enormous stress, what with the divorce and all. And sometimes when we’re under
that kind of stress, we say things we can’t possibly mean. Things that don’t make sense.”

I didn’t think he was lying. I honestly believed he was as confounded as he appeared to be, as I was. I began to wonder if
Richard Sloan had lied to Diana. I looked at her. Her eyes lit up. She frantically pulled a pad and pen out of my junk drawer
and scribbled,
Is Rev married?

I nodded.

Happily?
Diana wrote. I shrugged. How the hell should I know? Then I remembered that I’d heard they were once separated. I thought
back to the times Michelle had answered the phone, how irritated and put-upon she always sounded. Michelle was hardly the
model pastor’s wife. She often skipped services, and rarely participated in church functions. Diana was scribbling again:
Maybe wife sent pics?

“Reverend Lee, I believe you when you say you had nothing to do with those pictures, I really do. But I’ve got to ask this:
Do you think your wife might have had anything to do with this?”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. “Reverend?” I prodded.

“Maybe,” he said heavily. I flashed Diana a thumbsup.

“Do you mind if I talk with her?” I said.

“We’re separated. Again. I’m not sure I even know where she is.”

“Reverend Lee, can you tell me why your wife would have followed me to a motel room? Please?”

The reverend brought his mouth closer to the phone
and whispered, “I can’t talk about this now. Not here. Can we meet somewhere?”

He told me he had to prepare for a board meeting tonight and wouldn’t be available until tomorrow. I arranged to meet him
at Pony’s, 11
A.M.

When I got off the phone I was desperate to do something, anything, to feel like I was in control of my life. I wanted to
go online, search for Michelle Lee. Maybe I could find an e-mail address, a phone number, a police record, who knows?

“Forget it,” Diana said. “Don’t waste your time. You’ll wind up with seventeen thousand sites about
Knot’s Landing.
” She reached for her tote bag. “Here. I brought something for us to do.”

I froze.

She saw the look on my face. “Don’t worry, silly billy. It’s nothing like that. Here. Come check this out.”

I watched as Diana pulled out the following objects from her bag: a large white pillar candle, a bunch of dried herbs tied
with raffia, a box of red-tipped matches, and a heavy crucifix. “What’s all this?” I asked.

Diana smiled at me. “It’s everything you need for a home exorcism. Everything but the priest. But I’ve been assured that this
do-it-yourself kit works just as well.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about evil, baby. Malevolent forces. Dark spirits.” She struck a match against the sole of her boot and lit the
white candle. “I’m talking about Roger.”

“You have to be kidding. Now you’re into wicca?”

Diana turned off the fluorescent kitchen light. “Not really. But I really do believe that old lovers and husbands leave behind
bad mojo. You know, like an odor.” She opened a window in the dining room, letting in the balmy air. “So I went online, looked
up purification rituals. This is sort of a mishmash of different rituals, but I think it should work.”